


En Avant

by Masian (salable_mystic)



Category: The Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: Developing Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Surprises, Viggorli Secret Santa 2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-01
Updated: 2020-01-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:28:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22072540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/salable_mystic/pseuds/Masian
Summary: Will their (pretty new) relationship last? Orlando is wondering … .
Relationships: Orlando Bloom/Viggo Mortensen
Kudos: 19
Collections: 2019 Viggorli Secret Santa





	En Avant

**Author's Note:**

  * For [chaosmanor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chaosmanor/gifts).



**.**

“Where are we going?” Orlando questioned, holding tightly to Viggo’s hand as he was being led through the older man’s house. True, the house wasn’t all that big, and he’d been here often enough that he almost dared, in the privacy of his own mind, consider it a kind of second home – but still, walking the familiar hallways blindfolded was proving rather disorienting. … or maybe it was Viggo who was being his usually magnetic and distracting self and thus causing Orlando to feel more lost than he would have felt had he had to traverse the house blindfolded on his own.

The greeting he had been given on his arrival – scant minutes ago, barely in the door before he was being pressed back against it and being kissed within an inch of his life – was certainly still buzzing under his skin and making his head spin, so that was certainly partially to blame. Not that he wanted to complain, mind – this thing between Viggo and him was pretty new still, hinted at in glimpses and too long touches while they had been in New Zealand, but only started after their return and after their professional paths diverged – but it was quickly becoming one of the cornerstones of his life. So, yes, he would take being greeted with a passionate kiss by the person he loved right after walking through a door over a much, much greater amount of disorientation – but he still had too admit that coming out of such a scorching kiss only to almost immediately afterwards end up blindfolded was … definitely disorienting. And maybe a little disconcerting. Or it would be disconcerting, if he a) didn’t trust Viggo so much and b) wasn’t down for pretty much all kinds of kinky things, if they involved both Viggo and him. Which, alas, he was pretty sure him being blindfolded right now … would not lead to. They hadn’t yet discussed kinks at all, and with Viggo, questions of consent and discussions of comfort zones definitely came before any kinky business. The man had even insisted on them setting safe words before they’d so much as gone down on each other … which … both frustrating and endearing. Frustrating in the short run – they’d both been all hot and bothered, and a rather stilted and awkward discussion like that did _not_ tend towards keeping up such a momentum … but definitely endearing in the long run – this was definitely someone Orlando could feel safe with, let go with … which, to be fair, he’d already known, or he wouldn’t have gone for the other man in the first place, but … confirmation: always nice.

Which … all of this was getting him sidetracked – mind busy whirring though potentialities, possibilities, extrapolating from past events … overcompensating for the lack of insight (ha!) into the current predicament.

So, rather than spinning himself into a tizzy, Orlando decided to ask again, after his first query had gained him no reply.

“No, Viggo, seriously, hold on. Where are we going? What is this?” his steps slowed down, his hand tightened on Viggo’s, trying to show his unease without having to actually _verbalize_ said unease with the current situation and thus breaking the otherwise promising mood of the afternoon.

To his credit, Viggo seemed to catch on to the lack of levity that differentiated the second question from the first almost immediately and stopped their forward momentum. A hand came up to stroke through Orlando’s curls, where they fell over the blindfold, while the other hand squeezed his gently and tangled their fingers together.

“Shhh … it’s nothing untoward, I promise,” the older man said tenderly – though Orlando thought he might also be able to make out a faint trace of fond amusement in his voice. “It’s just … you’ve been here a lot over the last few months, yeah? And I know my place is kind of … idiosyncratically set up to cater to all my wishes and desires, which don’t always match up with yours so well … so I thought I’d change that a little bit, ok?” Orlando felt familiar lips brush over his and eagerly returned the soft kiss, squeezing Viggo’s fingers in return, his other hand reaching up to – after a short amount of fumbling – rest on the other man’s bicep.

“Oh,” he murmured, softly, when their lips parted, feeling slightly taken aback. He knew how much his home, his private space – and having it set up in _just_ the way his artist’s heart desired – meant to Viggo. So hearing this … this seemed … potentially huge. “Oh.”

This time there was definitely a trace of fond amusement in the older man’s voice as he replied, after another quick and gentle kiss, “Oh indeed. The blindfold … is a little silly, I admit. But I want it to be … not a surprise precisely, but rather that you get to see it all at once, from the middle of things, not as a glimpse though a doorway. Not … cautiously, you might say … but rather … hmm … ” he paused, seeming to look for the precisely right expression.

“… with a certain reckless abandon?” Orlando supplied, smiling gently below the blindfold.

“Yes, that works. With a certain reckless abandon.”

This time, Orlando could definitely hear the smile in the older man’s voice.

With a certain reckless abandon … Orlando thought. Like our relationship and the way we ended up jumping into it with almost full speed ahead, once we finally considered ourselves freed from the professional constraints that kept us in check for what felt like far too many months. Not many people knew of their relationship – not yet – and they had not ever even discussed the possibility of maybe, some day, going public with it yet. Of those people that knew – family, some friends, some of their colleagues from New Zealand – most of them were, while supportive, also deeply skeptical, due not only to the fact that they were both men in very public positions who would face an immense backlash if it were to come out, but also due to the speed with which their relationship had developed and intensified. Which, yes, might not be wise, and certainly wasn’t cautious – for all of Viggo’s insistence on safe words – but just felt so damned … right … to Orlando. This thing between them, this relationship … it was … it was quickly becoming the touchstone of Orlando’s life – and that was a scary thought, especially during moments when he questioned if Viggo really felt the same way, the same intensity – or if he was the only one who sometimes felt both like he was drowning in the other man, in all the emotions he felt for him … and like said drowning was the easiest thing in the world, an immovable and unchangeable fact, like there was no possibility of anything else.

Not that Viggo gave him cause to feel that way, Orlando had to admit – the other man had been nothing but upfront with his feelings and expectations, both in words and in deeds – but, being by far the younger and less experienced of the two, still trying to find his place in the world and with hardly a serious long term relationship to his name … of course it was easy to wonder if one was being overly foolish, naïve, or optimistic … .

But this … Viggo adapting his house, his home, to make Orlando feel more welcome, more _at home_ , less like a welcome but ultimately transitory visitor, in it – this was a gesture that felt on par with, if not superior to, a promise ring that neither of them could wear in public. A ring was, would be, a statement, sure … but one hidden in a drawer, under a shirt, … thus bereft of some of its significance. A ring was a statement made to other people, as much as it might be a gesture between the people involved themselves … whereas this? Depending on what it was, this was something of lasting impact, a new fact of life, something Viggo would be faced with and seeing and living with every day, even when Orlando was not there … . So, depending on what this was, it might be, literally and figuratively … big. A life-changing thing.

‘Or it might be nothing,’ Orlando thought wryly, amused by his thoughts that were once again spinning a bare hint at something desirable into improbable cloud castles. ‘It might well be nothing. Maybe he only cleared a space in the hall cupboard for a pair or two of my shoes, as I keep having to leave them in the hallway.’

Before he could get even more lost in his thoughts – being blindfolded sure made his brain go into overdrive – Orlando felt his fingers being squeezed again, and heard Viggo’s voice gently prompt, “So, shall we?”

He gave Viggo’s arm a squeeze in reply, before resolutely lowering his hand back to his side and nodding, “We shall. With reckless abandon … while still minding potential doorframes and end tables, please.”

This time, Viggo’s laugh rang out loud and clear, causing Orlando to chuckle along. “As if I’ve not always taken good care of you.”

Another disadvantage of wearing a blindfold, Orlando found, was that one couldn’t wriggle one’s eyebrows suggestively. “Indeed you have,” Orlando replied, trying to load is voice with as much innuendo as possible, to compensate for said lack of facial expression.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” was Viggo’s reply, as the older man resumed their slow and careful trek down the hallways. “This is not that kind of surprise, either.”

“Hmm … a pity.” Orlando mock pouted.

“Though, well … if we both put or minds to it …” the older man paused, “ … well, let me amend that statement to: it was, emphatically, not _intended_ to be that kind of surprise.”

Another pause, and then their trek came to a stop again, Viggo’s fingers were untangling from his, and his face was being cupped gently between work-roughened hands. “I don’t … I would not want you to think that, you hear me, Orlando? I would never expect … .” Viggo’s voice had turned rough, intense, insistent.

Suddenly Orlando found himself in a position where he was reassuring the older man, reaching up to squeeze the other’s arms, close to where hands were still cupping his face. “I know, Viggo, I understand, ok? I was just teasing you. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, it’s just,” harshly blown out breath fanned over Orlando’s face. “This is … I don’t expect anything in return, you know? Not for you to be around here more, around me more … and certainly no sexual favors. I just wanted to turn this place into something that might become more of a home to you, ok? But that doesn’t mean…” another pause, and Orlando heard the other man swallow convulsively. In a far quieter voice he added, “… that doesn’t mean you have to see it that way, too. It might … it might be silly, and stupid, and I might be building this way up. And if … and if you think it’s silly, that I’m being silly, or overreaching, or … that’ll be okay too, you know?”

A _home_ , Viggo had said. Turn this place into _a_ _home_. For _Orlando_. For him. Huge indeed, no matter what it actually turned out to be.

And it would _in no way_ be as okay as Viggo was trying to make it out to be, should he indeed find it silly, Orlando knew … but he was also sure that the older man would bravely try to deal with said not-okay-ness on his own, because he’d been the one who had unilaterally done something without checking with Orlando about it, and thus would feel that it was only fair if he carried the consequences of said unfruitful attempt.

Which … Orlando, right at this point, fiercely decided to love the idea of whatever it was that Viggo thought he needed to feel more at home, even if he didn’t love the reality of it. Hell, he _did_ already love the idea of it – that Viggo actively wanted to make him feel more at home in his house – without even knowing the physical manifestation of said impetus at all.

Orlando leaned forward, and slotted their mouths together as best he could, blindfolded as he was. Thankfully, Viggo caught his intent and helped, so the kiss turned out pretty successfully.

Orlando wound his hands around the older man’s shoulders and softly whispered into his hair, “I love it already, whatever it is, ok? Maybe not the reality of it, not yet … because I haven’t seen it yet … but that you did it for me … for us … to make me feel at home in your life. _Of course_ I love it already.”

He pushed a gentle kiss against the older man’s hair, and then playfully pushed him away, adding, “So just show me already, filthy human, ok?”

Viggo’s voice was thick with a plethora of unstated emotions when he replied, aiming for the same levity, “Manners, elf boy, manners.”

Still, Orlando felt his hand being taken again, felt fingers intertwining with his own, and their progress down the hall resumed.

Through a door, right turn, down another hallway, towards what Orlando was pretty certain was Viggo’s large, sunlit, hardwood floored studio, which usually housed a canvas or two in progress and not much else, besides a somewhat ratty armchair close to the large bay windows. No actual art was actively created in said studio – all that happened in the large, detached garage, being as it was a usually somewhat messy and smelly process. No-one, not even Viggo, wanted paint fumes to waft through the kitchen, bedroom, living room. Still, the studio was a lovely space, and one that Viggo spent a lot of time thinking about art and his creative projects in – for all that it was, in Orlando’s opinion, grossly underutilized. It was also definitely a space Viggo spent a lot of time _alone_ in – there was only one armchair, after all, and not really any other way to inhabit the space – other than the occasional bout of frantic artistic pacing.

Beyond the studio was a guest bedroom, though, which Orlando now considered the most likely destination. Not that he actually every spent any time in it – he’d ostensibly been meant to stay there during his very first visit, but he’d never even gotten around to unpacking his night clothes from his suitcase in there, much less to sleeping in the bed, before he’d ended up in Viggo’s room, decidedly _without_ any clothes on, night _or_ day, on said first visit, and him using the guest room had never been brought up again. Still, it would be nice to have some space that was thought of as ‘his’ – even if he doubted he’d use it for much except storing his suitcase. But it was the thought that counted, so … .

That thought, however, came to an abrupt halt when Viggo stopped him in the middle of what Orlando was _sure_ was his studio. What …? A second armchair, maybe? A couch instead of the one armchair? A …?

His thoughts were, once again, interrupted by Viggo’s voice.

“We’re here.”

The older man stepped behind Orlando and reached for the blindfold. “Ready? And remember, you said that you love it already.”

Orlando could detect more than a hint of uncertainty mixed into the laughter in Viggo’s voice, and was more determined than ever to love whatever the surprise was, even if it turned out to only be a new blanket on the armchair, or … he’d love it, he’d love it, he’d love it, he’d …

He nodded, and the blindfold came away from his eyes.

Orlando blinked into the light, trying to make sense of the room. It undoubtedly was Viggo’s studio, still was Viggo’s studio, but it was also … not. It was … more. Two new and incredibly comfortable looking armchairs stood in front of the large bay window, half facing each other, half facing into the room, a small end table between them. But more than the change in seating arrangement, it was the room itself that had changed. The lovely hardwood floor was still there, as were the two unfinished canvases Viggo was currently mulling over/working on, now hanging on one wall instead of set willy-nilly on aisles in the middle of the room. The rest of the room … one entire wall had been covered with large mirror panes, and a barre bar ran at hand-height along it, track lighting in the ceiling providing perfect illumination during cloudy days or at nighttime. A small shelving unit in one corner held a CD player and a small set of speakers, while also providing space that was waiting to be filled, by accoutrements such as towels, ballet slippers, or… .

The room … had been turned into a perfect mesh of Viggo’s artist’s thinking space and a little ballet studio. Which, Orlando knew, Viggo had no interest in practicing himself. But which, Orlando _also_ knew, _Viggo_ knew that _Orlando_ did have an interest in practicing, had trained in … and was missing being able to practice, due to lack of said ballet studio and/or privacy and/or time.

This was … this was … .

Orlando blinked and tried desperately to keep a sudden rush of tears from spilling down his cheeks, hand coming up to cover his mouth.

For Viggo to have done this … and not only to have done it, but to have set it up in his studio, in his private, thinking space. It was … this was … . This was both of them sharing space, sharing time, sharing something close to their hearts, sharing … _themselves_. Sharing their _lives_. It was a statement, a gesture, a … this was huge. And kind, and loving and so so so perfect … .

Orlando gave up the fight and turned, to tightly hug Viggo and to bury his face in the other man’s shoulder.

A hand came up to gently card through his hair.

“So? That horrifying?” a gentle voice asked.

Orlando shook his head, tears brushing into the other man’s shirt.

“No!” he stated emphatically, leaning back and smiling widely at Viggo, cheeks glistening with new tears. “That, that … it’s … perfect. Thank you.”

A kiss.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you. For this, and for … you know, for creating space for me. Literally, here, in your house. But also, you know, …” Orlando gently touched the older man’s chest, over his heart, “… here.”

Another gentle kiss.

“Recklessly and with abandon, elf boy.”

It was Orlando’s earlier phrase, slightly modified. It could be played off as a joke, if Orlando decided that any other options were too much for him. But it also sounded … like a vow. Like a promise, spoken in Viggo’s deep and sincere voice, something that encompassed so much more of their futures, something that this perfect, shared space that Viggo had created for them was only a glimpse at. It sounded like everything Orlando desired.

Orlando tried his hardest to instill his reply with the same amount of sincerity, when he returned the words to Viggo, phrase by phrase, meaning by meaning.

“Recklessly and with abandon.”

From the smile that smoothed itself over Viggo’s face, and from the passionate kiss that followed, he was pretty sure that he succeeded.

…

Also, it turns out – an entire wall of mirrors?

 _Great_ for sexual favors of all sorts.

Orlando’s just saying.

.


End file.
